


Moominpappa’s Misfortunate Memoirs

by Doceo_Percepto



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Joxter creeps on Pappa, M/M, Masturbation, Mature Rating to Be Safe, This ended up being way more mild than I anticipated but, a nibling dies, but it's very tame, implications of rape, oh well, predatory behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 14:58:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19405666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto
Summary: Sometimes stories are different than the realities they draw from.





	Moominpappa’s Misfortunate Memoirs

A life ripe with adventure. Each morning waking to a new horizon, each day breathing fresh air. Danger, intrigue, exploits! This is what Moominpappa’s heart had craved (what it did still crave, truth be told, but a man with a family must be responsible! Committed!). Yes, he was determined now to be a great father, and a loyal husband. Fewer adventures nowadays, but plenty of time for writing, reminiscing, and re-telling.

This is how he preferred to spend his time. His quill flowed over many a parchment, committing to perpetuity the many adventures he had had. 

But his quill was not flowing now. No, it was frozen over the page. Held in a subtly shaking paw. _Drip, drip_ , _drip,_ the ink plinked down over and over again upon the same spot. Moominpappa’s mind was far, far away. He liked to think he knew best how to tweak and embellish tales in order to give them just the _perfect_ delivery. But this story…

This story he did not know how to tell. 

He greatly wished to share it. The Oshun Oxtra was a marvel that would surely astound his family, and he had met such colorful and delightful folk along the way. But this story required… more editing than Moominpappa’s other stories.Much more. Because this tale came with a dark underbelly that, to this day, he had told not a soul. 

He never would, either. Of that he was determined. It could be a wondrous tale, if a certain… person was omitted. That person was the Joxter. Someone Moominpappa tried desperately not to think of, but the memories were already unraveling like film reel…

He first met the Joxter on board the Oshun Oxtra, before the ship was truly ready to sail. The Joxter had been napping on the sun-warmed rich wood near the bow of the vessel, but he woke at Moomin, Muddler, and Hodgkin’s approach. Moominpappa’s first impression was lazy and dirty, but when the Joxter opened his eyes, he revealed black slit pupils and gleaming gold-brown irises. 

“The Joxter,” the Muddler introduced. “Always doing what one shouldn’t!”

“It wouldn't be any fun otherwise,” the Joxter agreed. A smile barely concealed his rows of sharp, small fangs. Long claws he lazily raked along the floorboards as he sleepily stretched his limbs. 

“Surely you don’t take offense to me? Such a look, Moomin…”

So long Moominpappa had considered himself an intrepid adventurer, but under the Joxter’s level gaze, he was prey. He didn’t like how quick a single man’s regard could make him cold and afraid, for reasons he could not articulate. 

The Joxter’s voice was a purr, “But I think you look rather lovely. We’ll get along famously, dear, I’m sure of it.” As he passed by, the Joxter dragged those claws of his along Moominpappa’s white fur, not hard enough to tear flesh, but enough to be threatening. He _could_ tear flesh, and that was exactly the point. 

“Must he come along?” Moominpappa later asked Hodgkins. 

“I don’t rightly think we can stop him!” Hodgkins replied light-heartedly. This was probably true, but why did no one else find the Joxter so unnerving?

Of course, the Joxter didn’t pay attention to anyone else the way he paid attention to Moominpappa. Didn’t _look_ at the others the way he looked at Moominpappa. The others were friends, if such as a creature as the Joxter could have such a thing - acquaintances, perhaps. But Moominpappa… the Joxter looked at him like a snack he wanted to devour, nice and slow. Moominpappa had never met someone like that - he didn’t know such sinister-like people existed, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

During the ship’s construction, Moominpappa avoided the Joxter as often as he could. Only a few close encounters had a chill running through Moominpappa’s bones but he was unwilling to let it ruin the adventure. At some point, he even became enraged. Who was the Joxter to make him so uneasy! Moominpappa was brave! Fearless! A Moomin ready to take to sea or sky! How dare the Joxter make him waver, even for a second! It wasn’t as if the silly Joxter had even done anything particularly odd or horrible! Moominpappa was all worked up over a feeling, and a feeling alone.

For a time, Moominpappa walked with greater pride and resilience. The Joxter was a simple mumrik - an odd one at that, certainly, but what could he truly do? He got some strange enjoyment out of Moominpappa’s discomfort - well! Moominpappa wouldn't tolerate it, not a moment more.

Moominpappa faced no more trouble during the ship’s construction. Only later he realized the Joxter was _allowing_ him reprieve. Allowing him to believe that he had any control over the situation at all. 

Trouble came the first night on board. 

“Dear,” a whispered word, heavy like a thorn dripping honey, came in the middle of the night when all was dark, dark, dark. 

It had Moominpappa tense immediately, from asleep to alarmed. His foolish resolve flared. “Joxter, what in the world are you doing!”

“My bed is too soft,” came the voice again, and now there was a weight leaning on Moominpappa’s bed. “Won’t you let me stay in yours, my friend?”

“The floorboards will suit you fine!"

“So cruel, Moomin.”

“Anyhow, my bed will be just the same as yours, no more or less uncomfortable.” Moominpappa didn’t mean to be rude, but he was sure the Joxter was being deliberately terrif-annoying. 

“You weren’t in my bed - you could hardly know that.”

“I won’t have you sleeping here tonight."

When the Joxter didn’t immediately reply, Moominpappa frowned into the darkness, the vague shape of the Joxter’s hair that formed an illusion of fox’s ears. 

“Why are you like this?” He found himself brave enough to hiss. 

“I like doing all things one shouldn’t,” the Joxter replied.

“Muddler said you pick fights with policemen and park keepers.”

“I win those fights,” he replied with pride.

“But that’s quite different.”

“Perhaps I’ve bored of those things.”

“Well, don’t be,” Moominpappa said crossly, not liking the direction this was going in. 

“Park keepers are very easy competition,” the Joxter said. “Hardly any difficulty at all.”

“Go to bed.”

“Your bed?”

“The floor!”

The Joxter chortled. Moominpappa was afraid he’d refuse (and he wasn’t sure what to do then), but to his great relief, the Joxter slunk away deeper into the shadows. Moominpappa hoped that to be the end of it - good riddance!

Only he woke sometime later with a weight straddling his hips. This time, half-snared in a dream, he was slow to rouse. What was that noise? A slick wet slapping of flesh… and the gasping accompanying it. Wait….  
  
A soft moan. Something warm and wet splattered over his rounded belly. The pieces clicked.

With a roar, Moominpappa lurched from his bed, thus unseating the Joxter.

“ _Joxter_ ,” a snarl ripped form his throat in fury and horror.

It was nearly morning. Pinkish light filtering in from the window and too-perfectly haloed the Joxter’s devious smile. “Moomin,” he cooed. “Are we now properly introduced?”

Moominpappa strictly avoided looking between the Joxter’s legs. “I will not accept this behavior! Hodgkins will know at once!” With that, he stormed towards the exit. 

“He won’t, unless you want him dead.”

Moominpappa’s paw stilled on the door handle. “Don’t say such things.”

“I only thought I should give you fair warning. I won’t say a single word more if it’s too frightening for such delicate ears as your own.”

Moominpappa slammed the door after himself. How dare the Joxter say something like that! Killing another, that was unheard of. He clearly was trying to be threatening, or perhaps it was his sick idea of a joke, but he clearly would have no real intention of acting on that… right?

Moominpappa swore as the quill fumbled in his fingers. Glistening black ink shone up at him, words he had not meant to write. The beginning of a story with the Joxter’s name in it. Moominpappa crumpled it up, into the trash can with that. New page. Moominpappa sucked on the end of the pen. Tapped his foot. He hadn’t thought of that man in several years. If only he could get this story out while not thinking about him still. Because thinking of him, it brought back frightening, ugly memories, things best forgot-

A knock on the door sent Moominpappa flying from his chair, clutching his hat and gasping.

“Dear?” Moominmamma peered in through the cracked door. “Dear, you've been holed up all morning. Shall you come out for some lunch?”

All morning?! So long and not one (usable) word. 

“Yes, yes I suppose I had better.” A break would do him good. 

Through lunch, his mind was distant. He ate robotically, thoughts far, far away.

“Are you all right?” Moominmamma pulled him aside after the dishes were washed. “You hardly responded to Moomin’s story about young Snufkin.”

“Yes, just - a little light-headed today, that’s all.”

She had a knowing look. Though he had never told her of his experiences with the Joxter, she could read his moods easier than the weather.

“You’ll be going back to writing, then?”

“Yes, love.”

“I’ll expect you out by dinner.” She clasped his paw and gave him a look. _I had better see you at dinner, or there will be trouble to pay._

“Wouldn't miss it for the world!”

The study door snicked closed behind him. He felt alone. Silly, silly. He had to be alone for writing. It was time to write about the Oshun Extra. Its sweeping sails. The vast tides that had swept them along. Yes. He could write this. So he sat upon his chair, put quill to paper.

Away the afternoon passed, word after word painting fresh black ink upon parchment. 

All stories must have a beginning and he begins his at the orphanage, stifling and dull - along the tale trots, following him over hills and through creeks and across valleys, ultimately finding dear Hodgkins, with his wild creator’s heart and his determination to create a flying boat. Then meeting - meeting - 

Moominpappa smoothly wrote through it. Meeting a smudgily beige Joxter, and a Muddler. Only keep the safe parts, yes! 

Then rescuing a Hemulen from the Grove - that was a heroic deed that certainly couldn't be looked over. The resulting frustration and flurry of having a fussy Hemulen aboard, and then - then -

A plump nibling squashed under the Joxter’s paw. It was night when this happened. The Muddler and Hodgkins were in the bowels of the boat, laughing and playing card games by lantern light. Moominpappa had gone out to admire the stars, but instead found the Joxter perched on a poor, poor little nibling, while it flailed and squealed. The Joxter watched its useless struggle with glittering eyes.

“What on earth are you doing? Let that creature go at once!”

“I don’t think I shall.”

“Joxter!” Moominpappa was on the very verge of snapping, but the Joxter’s breathed,

“Isn’t it lovely? The struggle of a creature so helpless? The _fear_?” He inhaled like he could taste such a thing. 

“Let him go,” Moominpappa’s voice shook. The Joxter was enraptured. In awe of something so awful. 

The nibs’s little nose wiggled. His eyes were blown wide. He could hardly breathe.

“Shhhh, Moomin,” the Joxter said. “Watch.”

The tortured nibling wailed afresh when more weight was applied, crushing it to the floorboards.

“Stop!”

“What will you do if I stop?”

“What?”

The Joxter smiled placidly. “Will you share your bed with me?”

“ _What_?” The Joxter was so low as to bargain a life over something so trivial as bed space.

“So that’s a no, then, pity…“ Something crunched as the Joxter leaned on the nibling.

“No! I mean - yes! I mean - I will - I will share, just stop torturing him!”

The released creature made a squeak like a punctured balloon. It didn’t move, even when the Joxter slunk off. Moominpappa dove to the nibling and cradled it in his arms while it burped blood from its snout, seized, and then died.

Water dripped down on the parchment. It took Moominpappa some time to realize the liquid mingling with the ink was tears. Frustrated, he rubbed his paws over his eyes. He’d never be able to forget how sad it was, to hold such a small creature in his paws as it grew limp and cold. Until then, Moominpappa had never seen anything die. It was one of many first experiences that Joxter gave him, that Moominpappa never never asked for. The trouble was…

Nobody would believe badly of the Joxter. 

“He’s lazy, certainly, but quite harmless!” The idea of him harming a small creature like a nibling was preposterous. Why would Moominpappa say such things about him?

“You agreed to let me in your bed,” the Joxter pointed out too many times, to each Moominpappa looked bitter and furious. 

The nibling had died, no matter what Moominpappa agreed to, and so he wasn’t going to let the Joxter in his bed.

Unfortunately, it mattered little when the Joxter snuck in while Moominpappa was sleeping. It mattered little when the Joxter could pick the door lock. 

Sometimes Moominpappa woke to claws caressing his back, or between his thighs. Sometimes he woke to the Joxter’s panting.

“Don’t think we don’t know,” Hodgkins teased once. “We’re not oblivious!”

“What?”

“You and the Joxter.”

Dread. “I-I-“

“Nothing to worry about! Muddler and I are happy for you two!"

It was an invitation for the Joxter to express his ‘affections’ in front of them. Not only once, kissing him full on the mouth, his tongue slimy and his breath foul. His disgust was taken for embarrassment. 

Moominpappa shuddered. Tore the paper, threw half in the trash. What was wrong with him? None of that was appropriate for his family, and nobody wanted to hear that nonsense anyway! Moominpappa despised the mere thought of it. _Now get on with writing what you ought to write_ , he scolded himself. New page. He stared at it. Stared and stared until Moominmamma poked her head in and summoned him out. 

“I worry about you sometimes,” she said. “Holed up there all day.”

“I’m just fine, Moominmamma, just fine, I assure you.”

For dinner he made sure to be especially attentive, nodding along to Moomin’s stories, eating more than his uneasy stomach felt ready to eat. 

That night he lay in bed beside Moominmamma, thoughts stewing.

“This story has got you worked up,” Mamma said. “Perhaps tomorrow you ought to head out with Moomin?"

“Hmm…” But all Pappa could think of was getting this story out. Perhaps if he wrote it in a better light… If he wrote all the good parts, erasing out all the bad… perhaps he could put it to rest. This no longer was about making the story suitable for his family, though of course that was always a priority. He wanted to see it better himself. He wanted the wonderful memories aboard that ship to be untainted by the Joxter’s actions. 

If he could write it… could _edit_ it, to where none of that unpleasantness happened…

The following morning found Moominpappa at his desk yet again. It had been hard-pressed, convincing Mamma that he absolutely _must_ write, but she was familiar with his ways and relented in the end. She had that _look,_ the worried look, but Moominpappa assured her he was only in a tizzy about his writing, nothing more. 

So now, Moominpappa was to put a positive spin on things. 

Joxter - Joxter helped with the engine. That was a good detail to include: dear Snufkin, who was nothing at all like his father (oh how cautious Moominpappa had been at first, but he knew Snufkin was blessedly unalike to the Joxter) deserved to think he had an acceptable father, at the very least. As for the nibling, well - let’s say it survived with no trouble, yes. It traveled with them, and left the boat to have a wonderful life of its own.

And next, of course, they sailed to a far-off island full of Mymbles and Hemulens, ruled by a fun-loving and generous king Daddy Jones. As they became acquainted with one Mymble, they learned said king would be celebrating his 100th birthday with a garden party and fireworks - and they too were invited! All were invited!

It sounded like a great deal of fun (Moominpappa was eager to get off the ship and socialize with others (was eager not to be around the Joxter)). 

Back in his study, Moominpappa frowned. Focus. This wasn’t about avoiding the Joxter. This was about the balloons, the laughter, the feast of food, the myriad of people Moominpappa had met at the party - the wine, of course, can’t forget the wine - But… that _was_ where… where…

Evening had long since given way to night. For most of the party, Moominpappa had been surrounded by the enthusiasm and energy of others. He had enjoyed himself, and been able to forget, for a time, his troubled mind. But suddenly, by means he couldn’t recall (but oh, his stomach was queasy, he didn’t feel good-), he was behind a few tents, alone. No, not alone. Alone with the Joxter. His head throbbed. He felt unwell. Dizzy.

Fireworks exploded overhead, pounding with his headache. Distantly, people were cheering. Moominpappa really should have been with them. Instead, he was much, much too close to the Joxter. 

“You never really looked at it,” the Joxter said sinisterly, fireworks reflected in his pupils. 

“What?” Moominpappa answered, feeling sluggish.

“Well, this, of course.” Then he pulled up his cloak to show he was wearing absolutely nothing underneath. He was excited. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Before Moominpappa looked away, he could not help but to glimpse the swollen hooks lining his length, each ending in a spiny tip. 

“Let’s - let’s go back-“

“Touch it.”

“Joxter…” Moominpappa glanced longingly away, toward the sound of celebrating people. His head spun. He clutched it weakly, a word falling from his lips, “Please…” 

“They’re not expecting us back yet. I told the Muddler I would make love to you tonight. He was glad for us. You won’t make me a liar, will you?”

Moominpappa shot out of his chair, heaving. Phantom pain raked all the way up his spine. It had been so long ago. He’d thought he’d forgotten - or at least, he had desperately wanted to forget. He wanted nothing do with that memory. He’d never felt so helpless - 

“Moominpappa!” The door opened to reveal Moominmamma - she took one look at him, and immediately was at his side. “Come, sit, sit, dear… Do you need water?"

“I’m quite all right,” Moominpappa said faintly. Then, “no, no, I think - I shall just need you close.”

“Of course.” 

She had never learned about his past with the Joxter - Pappa prayed she never would, because he doubted he had the strength to confess it. But she knew there was _something._ She always, always was ready for him when he had these… moments. 

Moominpappa nuzzled her soft fur as she cradled him. 

“You’re safe, Pappa. You’re safe.”

She had always assured him of that. The very first time they had made love, and the second, the third… it took a long time for him to be wholly comfortable. Because of what the Joxter had done.

No. He couldn't dwell on this. 

“Maybe I will take the afternoon out with Moomin after all,” Moominpappa decided. “Build a boat! Go fishing!”

“Yes, that sounds lovely.”

Over the next few weeks, Moominpappa wrapped up his memoir, making sure to keep everything light as it should be, and using Moominmamma’s support when needed most. Sooner rather than later, the thing was finished, and he was delighted to have a work (a living memory, if you may) that reflected the adventure with the Oshun Oxtra, all unpleasantness removed.

Thus he sat with Sniff, Snufkin and young Moomin gathered about him, and he told it proudly, beginning to end. He would be lying to say there wasn’t a single thought about bad things with the Joxter, but with the glow of their smiling faces he was able to banish those thoughts, and let himself, too, believe that the full story was contained within the pages that he had written.

Or…

At least…

So he _could_ believe this, until the door burst open and in poured many, many familiar faces. Hodgkins, Muddler, Mymble and a myriad of children - 

“I invited them,” Moominmamma said, squeezing his shoulder. “I thought you may like to see all your friends again, love.”

\- the Joxter. Scraggly like a cat with rabies. Eyes still flashing with cleverness and darkness.

“Hello, Moominpappa. How nice to see you,” the Joxter cooed, clasping together clawed paws. “I’m very excited to get reacquainted."


End file.
